


Rapturous

by sciencefictioness



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aftercare, Dom Katsuki Yuuri, Dom/sub, Fluffiest Piss Fic You Ever Did Read, M/M, Omorashi, Praise Kink, Sub Victor Nikiforov, Viktor Is A Spoiled Little Shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-10-14 20:26:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10543828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sciencefictioness/pseuds/sciencefictioness
Summary: “Sit pretty for me, Vitya.”That had been ages ago.Or it felt like ages to Viktor, anyway.He’d gone down instantly, a puppet with his strings cut, dropping to his knees in perfect seiza.  The response was automatic, ingrained in him.  Etched in his memories, burned there, outlined with lust and submission.  Yuuri spoke the words, and Viktor obeyed before the request even registered fully in his mind.Sit pretty.Yuuri made it look easy back in Hasetsu when they had semi formal dinners at Yu-topia, sitting on his heels just so, the tops of his feet flat against the floor.  Flawless posture, and Viktor wouldn’t have thought there was anything demanding about it had he not assumed that same position so many times since then.  Now he knew intimately how awkward it really was, how it made his feet tingle, limbs throbbing with pins and needles.  Practice made perfect, though.  Viktor was impatient by nature, fidgety and mouthy and constantly in motion.Which was why Yuuri so often made him kneel, and hush, and wait.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kiokushitaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiokushitaka/gifts).



> If you don't know what omorashi is already, this probably isn't the fic for you. It's piss, there's piss. There's your second warning for those who don't read tags.
> 
> All my omos are belong to kio, who collaborated with me on this and drew some amazing art, which you can find [ here.](http://kiokushitaka.tumblr.com/post/159208634505/while-i-was-working-on-this-set-i-showed-the-wips) Look how pretty Viktor is, LOOK AT IT. Thanks sinfather, you're the best.

“Sit pretty for me, Vitya.”

 

That had been ages ago.

 

Or it felt like ages to Viktor, anyway.

 

He’d gone down instantly, a puppet with his strings cut, dropping to his knees in perfect seiza.  The response was automatic, ingrained in him.  Etched in his memories, burned there, outlined with lust and submission.  Yuuri spoke the words, and Viktor obeyed before the request even registered fully in his mind.  

 

_ Sit pretty. _

 

Yuuri made it look easy back in Hasetsu when they had semi formal dinners at Yu-topia, sitting on his heels just so, the tops of his feet flat against the floor.  Flawless posture, and Viktor wouldn’t have thought there was anything demanding about it had he not assumed that same position so many times since then.  Now he knew intimately how awkward it really was, how it made his feet tingle, limbs throbbing with pins and needles.  Practice made perfect, though.  Viktor was impatient by nature, fidgety and mouthy and constantly in motion.

 

Which was why Yuuri so often made him kneel, and hush, and wait.  

 

Usually he was collared, and naked, but not this time.  Viktor was dressed in his favorite training clothes, per Yuuri’s request earlier that day when they set out for the rink.  He hadn’t known why at the time, but sort of wished he’d chosen differently.  He’d never he able to wear these again at this rate.

 

Kneeling a few feet in front of the couch on the cold wood of their floors and wearing his most comfortable workout pants, Viktor needed to piss.

 

Viciously.

 

His shoulders were squared through sheer force of will, because Viktor wanted to hunch in on himself.  His toes curled as he struggled to ignore the constant pressure of his bladder, an increasingly difficult task.  Viktor’s hands were laid sideways on the tops of his thighs, fingertips brushing now that his knees were slowly closing of their own volition.  Anything to give him some leverage, however imaginary it might be, because Viktor couldn’t lose it just yet.

 

He wanted to be good for Yuuri.

 

“Knees apart, Vitya.  You’re doing so well.”

 

Viktor whined, sliding his knees back open a few inches, fingertips digging into the meat of his thighs, eyes locked on Yuuri.  He couldn’t have looked away even if he’d been given permission, which he hadn’t.

 

_ Don’t touch yourself, don’t take your eyes off me, wait for permission. _

 

Viktor didn’t ask what he was supposed to be getting permission for, because he already knew the answer was  _ everything. _

 

It was no hardship to watch Yuuri, anyway.  Especially right then.

 

He was shirtless, leaning back into the cushions of their couch like he didn’t have a care in the world.  Eyes half lidded behind his glasses, hair falling into his face, knees thrown wide.  Still wearing his pants from the rink, his cock jutting lewdly up out the black fabric.  Still wearing his leather gloves as he stroked himself, slow and patient, not even trying to get off.  Yuuri had been working his cock for at least half an hour, filth pouring out of his mouth as the need in Viktor rose higher and higher.  Too much pressure, too much liquid alive in his belly.

 

It was why he’d plied Viktor with sports drinks all morning and then dragged him away from the rink before he had a chance to hit the bathrooms.  He should have suspected, but it had been weeks since they’d had that particular conversation, and Viktor was sure Yuuri had forgotten he’d asked for this.  Part of him was afraid he’d freaked Yuuri out, or disgusted him, despite his assurances to the contrary.

 

Viktor should have known.  Yuuri wasn’t one to pass up a chance to make a mess out of him, in every sense of the word.

 

And Yuuri had always given Viktor anything he asked for without judgement, no room for it in him alongside everything else he kept there.  Too much affection for Viktor, too much adoration.  Spoiled.

 

Viktor was  _ spoiled. _

 

“Just a little longer, you can do that for me, can’t you?”  Viktor nodded, breath coming fast and ragged, spine arching.  Yuuri reached down to palm at his sack, hips rocking up into his fist.  Thoughtless, lazy.  Totally uninterested in himself, his focus on Viktor sharp as a knife.  “Look at you.  Is it bad?”  Viktor nodded again with a whimper, hips rolling as he squirmed in place.  “Mmmmm.  I bet it is.  Are you gonna piss in your favorite training clothes?”  Viktor shook his head fiercely,  _ no,  _ hair in his face, steeling himself anew.  Yuuri smiled, a slow, devious thing, eyes on fire.  “I think you might.  I think you might, and they’ll wash clean, but every time you wear them you’ll think of this.  You’ll think of what a little slut you are for me, pissing yourself for the chance to suck my cock.”

 

His headspace slipped for the briefest of moments, and all he could think of was how embarrassed Yuuri was going to be when their scene was over.  Yuuri could talk dirty enough to put a phone sex operator to shame when he was properly motivated.

 

Then the scenes ended, and Viktor had to be extra pitiful and make Yuuri take care of him for longer than necessary, just to keep him from hiding under their blankets for all eternity.

 

Falling back into submission was easy with Yuuri looking at him like he was a meal, though.  No, Viktor was never going to be able to wear his pants to training again without being distracted.  Nor would he ever be able to sit seiza back in Hasetsu without thinking of his collar, or his cuffs, or Yuuri’s gloved fingers in his mouth.  Viktor mentioned this to Yuuri once, how he’d be half hard trying to eat with Yuuri’s family next time they visited Japan, and Yuuri had just grinned.  Sly and calculating, ‘ _ I know.’ _

 

He  _ knew.   _ Of course he knew.  Yuuri was a monster Viktor had helped create.

 

Writhing in place, needy and overfilled, Viktor had no regrets.

 

Viktor’s spine curved further, shoulders out and ass jutting back slightly, brows furrowed in concentration. He was ridiculously aroused, even if he had to piss too badly to get hard right then.  It was taking all his concentration not to let go, but Yuuri had promised Viktor he’d be rewarded.

 

_ ‘If you’re a good boy, you can suck my cock.’ _

 

It wasn’t as though Viktor hadn’t sucked Yuuri’s cock a hundred times before, but  _ earning  _ it was something different.  Yuuri’s approval was a heady thing.  There was nothing quite like the fond, pleased look on his face when Viktor did as he asked.  When he stayed still without complaint for Yuuri to tie up in intricate knotwork, or held off his orgasm until tears gathered in his eyes.  When he took his licks without faltering, counted them without missing a beat.  When he swallowed every drop of Yuuri’s come without making a mess.

 

Now Yuuri had told him to wait, but Viktor yearned to ask for validation.  Wanted Yuuri’s praise already, wrapping around him warm and quiet, better than the roar of any crowd or the weight of a gold medal on his chest.

 

Viktor whimpered, knees sliding back together as he bared his teeth.  The press of his bladder was hot in his stomach, the liquid tangible inside him with every little twitch.  Viktor was a celebrity.  A world famous figure skater, with so many medals he’d lost count of them.  Viktor was a multimillionaire, with cars that cost more than some people’s homes.

 

Viktor was on his knees, about to piss himself, all because Yuuri told him to.  It was dizzying, giving control over to someone else so utterly.

 

It was freeing, this utter helplessness, and he made a pathetic noise as heat throbbed violently in his abdomen.  Sharp, as opposed to the slowly building warmth he’d been experiencing so far.  Almost painful, and Viktor twisted in place, starting to feel frantic.  If he lost control without being told to, would he still be praised?  

 

He threw Yuuri a worried look, hands slipping higher on his thighs, instinctively trying to cup his cock.  Viktor caught himself at the last second, biting his lip and panting.  Yuuri seemed to sense his panic.  He stopped stroking himself, fisting the base of his shaft hard and cocking his head at Viktor.

 

“You’ve waited a long time now.  Can you stand up without making a mess?”  Viktor nodded, fairly sure he could manage.  Yuuri motioned with his chin.  “Okay then, up you go.”  Viktor stood slowly, biting his lip harder, hands falling down to his sides.  He looked to Yuuri, waiting for some kind of acknowledgment, and finally Yuuri smiled.  “ ‘Such a good boy.’  That’s what you’re waiting to hear right?”  Viktor shivered all over, unable to form words, and Yuuri’s expression softened.  “Look at your face.  You know you’re good boy.  You did very well.  But you’re nearly at your limit now, right?”

 

Viktor trembled, hands coming up to grip at his thighs again as he leaned forward involuntarily.  It was harder to ignore standing up.  Sitting down, his body was less eager to let loose, but now?

 

His bladder ached, and his cock twitched in his clothes, a few too-hot drops of liquid slipping out to seep through his boxers.  Viktor wanted to grab himself and stave off the flow, but clenched his thighs tighter instead, unwilling to disobey Yuuri’s commands.

 

“I can’t…  I can’t hold it much longer.”  Yuuri let out a ragged breath, clutching tighter at his cock, chest heaving like it was a struggle not to come right then.  Viktor let out another pitiful, mewling whine, thighs sliding against one another, body caving in on itself.

 

“Fuck, Viktor, look at you.  You’re a fucking mess.”  Viktor knew he was right.  There was drool at the corner of his mouth, and he was sweating and flushed, the barest hint of wetness on the front of his pants.  Yuuri began jacking himself off again, nodding at Viktor.  “Okay.  Okay, pants down, but still no touching.”  Viktor’s hands flew to obey, shoving the soft fabric off his hips and down his thighs.  Yuuri just stared for a moment, wide eyed and overwhelmed.  “You’re so filthy.  It’s fine, Vitya.  You’re such a good boy for me, you can go.”

 

_ Such a good boy. _

 

Viktor was a good boy.

 

Viktor let go.

 

He held his shirt up out of the way, more out of habit than any real desire to keep it clean, and gripped at his pants with his other hand.  It felt inherently wrong, doing something so private in his living room where Yuuri could see, and Viktor panted heavily as he pissed at his own feet.  Liquid pooled on the floor, the force of the stream scattering droplets on the bottom of his pants.  It expanded, the puddle growing wider and wider until it was creeping under his toes, but he didn’t step back.  The relief from the pressure in his bladder twined with a hint of shame, one that flared up higher with the sound of Yuuri’s voice.

 

“So fucking filthy, Viktor, pissing in your own house.”  Yuuri was working his cock frantically, and Viktor had a twinge of fear.

 

_ Don’t come, you said I could suck you off, you promised… _

 

Yuuri continued, oblivious to Viktor’s internal struggle as he kept going, on and on, a seemingly endless golden stream.  It was orgasmic, the feeling of emptiness after being so full for so long.  A soft bed after a long day, a hot shower after a vigorous workout, a glass of water in the baking sun.

 

Relief, primal and basic and uncomplicated.

 

Finally it slowed, trickling to a stop, and Viktor looked up with panic edging into his eyes.

 

“H-Hey, Yuuri, how was I?  Was I good?  You said I was good.”  

 

His voice carried the hint of a whine, and he eyed Yuuri’s cock like it would vanish, mouth watering with the need to swallow it down.  Viktor’s own arousal was hardening fast, twitching and swelling between his thighs, starved for touch now that his bladder was empty.  Yuuri didn’t answer, just motioned with his hands for Viktor to come closer, thighs spreading apart to make room him between them.

 

Viktor nearly slipped in the still warm mess on the floor in his eagerness, leaving shining wet footprints in his wake.  He dropped to his knees in front of Yuuri, hands clasped automatically behind his back.  Fingers gripping the juncture of his elbows, ready for a box tie that wasn’t coming right then.  Mouth open, tongue lolling out, waiting.

 

Then Yuuri shoved his cock between Viktor’s lips and grabbed a rough handful of his hair.

 

“Suck.”

 

Viktor let his mouth fall open wider, and Yuuri fucked into it without hesitation.  His free hand came down, clutching at Viktor’s jaw, holding him in place as he rutted forward.  Viktor worked his tongue in circles when he could, sucking intermittently when Yuuri paused, drool slicking down his chin.  Viktor whined in protest, not because Yuuri was being too rough, but because he wasn’t being allowed to do any of the work himself.  Yuuri released the grip he had on Viktor’s hair, stroking it soothingly, massaging at the tense muscle of his jaw.  He didn’t have to ask what Viktor was complaining about.  Yuuri already knew.

 

_ Spoiled. _

 

“Okay, shhh, okay.”

 

Yuuri let his hips settle back against the couch, hand resting loose in Viktor’s wild locks now, and Viktor began swallowing him down in earnest.  

 

Viktor took Yuuri all the way back, until his length was pressing into the tight vise of Viktor’s throat.  Up, and down, agonizingly deep, and Viktor’s voice would be full of gravel for days afterwards.  He sucked hard, hollowing his cheeks, making satisfied humming noises around Yuuri’s cock.  

 

Yuuri kicked one of his knees up mindlessly, curling around Viktor, hissing low in Japanese.  Praise, Viktor knew, could recognize the words without even trying.  His arousal throbbed, heat swirling in his belly, precome dripping from his slit, and Viktor was afraid he might finish before Yuuri did.

 

Which he didn’t have permission for.  And the punishment would be just as enjoyable as the crime, but it wasn’t what Viktor was after right then.  He moved faster, bobbing his head, swirling his tongue around Yuuri’s slit when he pulled back, taking Yuuri impossibly deep when he pressed forward.  Yuuri’s thighs started shaking, and he fisted a hand in Viktor’s hair again and pulled hard.  Yanked Viktor back off his cock, and he was about to complain, until Yuuri started shivering his orgasm out across Viktor’s face.

 

He held Viktor still and swore as he painted his cheeks in pearlescent white ropes of seed, come streaking over his lips and nose, sliding down his chin.  Viktor panted, ragged, and when Yuuri looked down at him he stuck out his tongue and licked up some of Yuuri’s mess from the corner of his mouth.

 

“God _.  Fuck,  _ Vitya.”

 

Yuuri smeared his leather clad palm across Viktor’s cheek, then reached down with his come soaked fingers and took Viktor in hand.  Viktor shook all over as Yuuri stroked his cock, hands coming up to cling to Yuuri’s thighs.  There was no way he would be able to hold out very long, already rocketing towards climax.  Viktor leaned into Yuuri, forehead shoved against his chest, one hand sliding around his waist, because he could touch, now.  Needed to, and Yuuri wouldn’t deny him.

 

Viktor couldn’t make out the particular words Yuuri was saying, but the tone was enough.  It was the same voice he used to tell Viktor he was being good.   The same voice he used to tell Viktor he was pretty.

 

The same voice he used to tell Viktor he loved him.  Viktor came apart quickly, and completely, quaking in Yuuri’s hands and trying not to cry.  It was always so much when they did this, the weight of Yuuri’s feelings on him.  Viktor felt every ounce of Yuuri’s devotion, all of it shoved into him and pulled back out until he was raw and exposed.

 

Then Yuuri was shushing him, and pulling Viktor into his lap, uncaring of the mess on his face and in his lap and on his clothes.  It took a while for Viktor to settle down, and when he did he made an annoyed sound through his teeth.

 

“Yuuuuu-ri, I love these pants.”  He felt Yuuri’s grin on his cheek.

 

“I know.”

 

“You ruined them.”  Yuuri shrugged, petting Viktor’s hair, nosing into it.

 

“They’ll wash.”

 

“You know what I mean.”  Some things didn’t wash out.  Memories, for one, and Viktor would fuck up every jump he ever tried to land wearing those pants.

 

“Yes, I do.”  Viktor huffed, not really angry but feigning irritation anyway.  He would definitely be making Yuuri work for it this evening.  Then he grinned, voice scandalized.

 

“You called me a slut, Yuuri.”  Yuuri whined, burying his face in Viktor’s shoulder.

 

“Shut up.”

 

“You said I was a  _ slut for your cock,  _ Yuuri.”  Viktor could feel the heat coming off Yuuri’s face as he tried to burrow deeper into him.

 

“I did not.”  The words were barely audible muttered into his chest, and Viktor laughed, endlessly amused.  Yuuri mumbled something else unintelligible, and Viktor coaxed his face out from where he was hiding it.

 

“What?”  Yuuri tried to stop himself from smiling again to no avail.

 

“I said, Makka is officially better house trained than you.   _ She’s  _ never pissed herself in the living room, at any rate.”  Viktor lifted his chin and narrowed his eyes, astonishingly imperious for someone with piss on his clothes and come on his face.

 

“I think I need a bath, Yuuri.  With bubbles.  And then some lemonade.  And a massage.”  Yuuri laughed, wrangling Viktor off his lap and standing up.

 

“Okay.”   He headed towards the bathroom to start the water running.  Hotter than the sun, just how Viktor liked it.  He called after Yuuri, louder than was necessary.

 

“And some pasta.  And a blueberry muffin.”  Viktor heard Yuuri snort out a laugh, and then he was leaning in the bathroom doorway with a grin.  He’d taken off his gloves in the bathroom, and Viktor got some satisfaction when he realized Yuuri had effectively lost some of his favorite training gear, as well.

 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry.  You and Makka are both good dogs.”  It was hard to be offended when Yuuri was looking at him like he’d hung the stars in the sky.

 

Viktor tried, anyway.

 

“And  _ you’re  _ walking Makkachin after we eat, since  _ she’s  _ such a good girl.  And you can bring me back coffee from the shop on the corner-”

 

“I thought you said you wanted lemonade,” Yuuri interrupted, voice wry.  Viktor crossed his arms, haughty, like he wasn’t a fucked out mess.

 

“The lemonade is for after I take a bath, the coffee is for after dinner.”  

 

“You shouldn’t be drinking caffeine right now.  You know better.”   Viktor rolled his eyes even as warmth threatened to overtake him, because Yuuri was always so worried about him after a scene.  Fussing over what he ate, what he drank, how well he slept.

 

“Hot chocolate, then.  With marshmallows.  And after that we’re watching that movie you’ve been refusing to watch with me all week, the sci fi one with that actor you think is ugly, the bow and arrow guy, what’s his name?”

 

“Jeremy Renner,” Yuuri supplied easily, clearly wondering if he was about to be forced to engage in yet another debate with Viktor about whether or not Hawkeye was hot.  Viktor wanted to say he had bad taste, but then again Yuuri was  _ his  _ fiance, so that argument always backfired.  He pressed on, undeterred.

 

“Right, that one, and...”  Yuuri was still smiling, and Viktor trailed off, having run out of things to demand at the moment.  “What?”  Yuuri shrugged helplessly, nudging his glasses up higher on his nose.  They were fogging up slightly, the hot water steaming up the bathroom behind him.

 

“I love you.”

 

Viktor loved him too.  Told him so.

 

Then he spent the entire time he was in the bath coming up with more things to make Yuuri do for him.  It was hard, but Viktor was creative.

 

Yuuri did it all with a smile.

 

Then he brushed Viktor’s hair, which Viktor had forgotten to ask for, and Yuuri’s long fingers sifted through it long after he’d fallen asleep.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Viktor is such a fucking sub, I swear to god. Also if you don't think he would be the most spoiled, whining creature after a scene, I don't know what show you watched. Anyway. There may or may not be another chapter. Probably so.
> 
> This is all entirely kio's fault.


End file.
